


Nor shapes of men nor beasts

by elentari7



Series: The first rule of flying [4]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e03 Bushwhacked, Episode: s03e01 The Magnificent Seven, or: more minor character cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:39:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elentari7/pseuds/elentari7
Summary: late July - early August 2522, POV CastielGetting to know Dean feels like truly integrating into Impala's crew. Perhaps more than Castiel realizes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (There's some physical and psychological aftermath of violence/torture described in this one, see end note for spoiler-y details.)

It had taken months, and hadn’t happened under the most comfortable circumstances, but Castiel had finally gotten Dean to talk to him. He hadn’t known what to say himself, at the time. He didn’t excel at comforting people. But Dean had seemed comforted nonetheless, and he had even smiled. Because of something Castiel said.

It felt like an accomplishment to take pride in.

It’s a nice change of pace, being in a room with Dean and not feeling his desire to snap at Castiel--or at whatever target is easiest--radiating from him. It appears that once Dean no longer wants to snap at a person, his instinct is in fact to talk. He doesn’t like silence.

Castiel discovered this almost immediately after they first broke their conversational ice. Dean had made a flippant remark, obviously still trying to keep the tension dispelled, upon crawling out of the smuggling compartment about remembering a time when he actually fit in there, and Castiel had looked at him in surprise. That would have had to have been years ago. “How long have you had this ship?” And that led to the story of Impala, which began before Dean was born and hadn’t ended yet, really. Even when his family had lived planetside, Dean had lived half aboard Impala.

“She really is home,” Castiel had observed.

Dean had smiled again. “She’s practically family, Cas.”

He hasn’t called Castiel by his full name since that conversation.

Dean doesn’t let slip anything so personal again. It’s all jokes and references and ridiculous bravado; but Castiel can hardly accuse him of evasion--he’s not about to spill his secrets to Dean, either. Besides, the banal things Dean can go on and on about make him smile easily, and he is much more pleasant to be around when he’s in the mood to smile. It continues to feel earned, special, like a gift bestowed on Castiel personally, that smile. Even if that logically makes no sense.

Sometimes they talk about the ship--in the engine room, until Charlie kicks them out, on the bridge, until Jo catches them. Dean knows Impala inside and out, and will debate anyone on any of her features, to the death. Sometimes they talk over lunch--Castiel has always considered his meal preparation skills perfectly serviceable, and points out to Dean that neither Charlie nor Meg complain when they steal off his plate, but Dean despairs of him as hopelessly utilitarian. Occasionally Dean tries to show him how to make something more “interesting.” Mostly Dean just starts making him lunch. Meg steals off both their plates.

Sometimes they just sit together and don’t talk. It’s not as awkward as Castiel might have thought.

Sometimes they just pass each other in the corridors and on the stairs, and Dean responds to Castiel’s greeting with “Hey, Cas” instead of his old twitchiness, and something about this change feels inexplicably gratifying to Castiel.

Sometimes there are anecdotes, often over dinner, of the misadventures of various crew members, Dean included (as if their newly relaxed relationship has made them fair game for embarrassing stories). Dean rarely tells such things about himself, though. He prefers to talk about his friends.

“The first time I met Jody she threatened to arrest me,” he reminisces one night. Jo and Charlie roll their eyes at each other with the air of people who have heard a story multiple times before, while Benny and Meg keep utterly straight faces.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Kevin speaks up. “Are we supposed to be surprised?”

Another night, Dean and Jo trade stories about her mother Ellen. “I think I flirted with her the first time I met her. God, that was weird.”

“You flirted with _me_ the first time you met us, too,” Jo added. “You were _twelve_.”

“Never flirt with Harvelle women,” Dean sighed. “They’re out of your league and they’ll never let you forget it.”

“ _Twelve_.”

Another night the topic is the first job Dean and Charlie did together. “We needed a, a honey trap for this guy and Jo threatened to stab him, right, so Charlie had to do it--”

“--and even if I were attracted to guys, which, no,” Charlie jumps in, “this would _not_ have been fun--”

“--and she’s pretending to be a techie so she’s got a headset on the whole time, and I’m--”

“--Dean’s just panicking in my ear trying to walk me through flirting with men--”

“I still have no idea,” Benny intones, “how tha’ plan actually _worked_.”

A lot of Dean’s funny stories, Castiel notes, involve flirtation.

“Did you hit on Tamara the first time you met, too?” Charlie teases one night.

Dean throws his napkin at her. “Dude--she’s married.”

Jo coughs. “So was my mom.”

Meg raises an eyebrow. “Your point?”

Jo sends Meg a _look_ across the table. Dean ignores her and turns to Castiel. “Isaac’s a totally sweet guy, he wouldn’t actually hurt a guy for hitting on his wife. He’d just...stand there threateningly while she kicked the guy out the door.” Dean grins at Castiel around his next bite of dinner. “Watch her back in case the guy’s got angry friends, maybe. You don’t mess with the power couple.”

“Have we met them...?” Linda Tran asks.

“Oh, no, we’re headed their way next,” Dean explains. “They’ve settled down, run a chunk of middle-of-nowhere on Lilac. Second to last stop.” His smile turns soft around the edges. “It’s been a while, be good to see ’em again.”

“But will they be able to say the same…” Jo sighs, and dodges Castiel’s napkin, which Dean doesn’t ask for before stealing and throwing at her.

 

***

 

Lilac is a tiny crop moon, overheated and underirrigated; this, Castiel knows. He’s not familiar with any of the little settlements scattered across its sunbaked surface, though, and has never heard of Tamara and Isaac’s. He expects it’s unremarkable, except for being home to Dean’s friends.

They land on the edge of town. Dean says it’s the usual spot, but Castiel can tell he’s worried; Jo had contacted their friends three times in the last hour asking where they wanted them to set down and gotten nothing but static.

“They could be having a malfunction,” she offered, flashing Castiel a dry half-smile. “Nothing works properly for long this far out on the Rim.”

The rest of the crew (and the Trans) bustle around the cargo bay, loading crates onto the mule, eager to get out into the open air and friendly company. Meg ropes Castiel into hauling cargo with her, at which Benny raises an eyebrow. Castiel doesn’t know what’s in the crates (and Meg, when asked, said “These? These’re just solid blocks of wood.”), but they’re heavy; by the time the airlock opens and the ramp lowers, the heat from outside is already making everyone (except Gabriel, somehow) sweat.

Castiel’s shed his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Dean throws him a strange look.

Outside the ship it’s bright enough to have to squint, but once he adjusts Castiel can see he was correct in thinking the settlement would be unremarkable. There’s a fairly strong wind, but it does nothing to alleviate the heat; at least it’s at their backs, so the dust isn’t being blown in their faces. Dean waves them down the only visible street leading into town as Jo closes up the ship behind them. “C’mon, guys, before the sun fries us.”

“You try making this thing crawl faster,” Charlie shoots back from atop the mule, the Trans and Gabriel riding behind her with the cargo.

Gabriel fans himself theatrically. Jo slaps the back of his head as she jogs by.

The jokes dry up, though, as they progress into town. The buildings get bigger (though not very big) and closer together, but Castiel doesn’t see any of the people who might live in them. “Is it always this quiet?” he asks Meg.

Her frown is nearly imperceptible. “Quiet, yeah. Not this.”

Castiel knows what she means. It still doesn’t prepare him for the town square.

The group turns a slight corner into the open space where the town’s two main roads meet and Castiel almost runs into Dean. He hears Jo’s breath catch, sees both Meg and Benny’s hands reach for weapons out of the corner of his eye. Dean is frozen with his back to him, and Castiel doesn’t turn to see Charlie or the Trans’ reaction. He knows he should be on the alert for danger now, but for a long moment he can’t take his eyes off the pile of bodies in the middle of the square.

There are between one and two hundred of them, a detached part of his mind estimates, enough to fill this tiny town. If the wind changes direction the smell will be overwhelming.

Kevin vomiting is the first sound to break the silence. Everyone else flinches as if slapped. Linda’s voice is steady when she speaks, but it audibly takes effort. “What happened here.”

“Reavers,” Benny replies grimly. Gabriel starts muttering profanities under his breath.

Castiel immediately scans the area, double-checks the shadows, lingers warily on windows and doorways. He can see Benny and Meg doing the same.

The word seems to snap Dean out of his daze. “Jo,” he says, “get them back on the ship. Ready for takeoff. Keep the ramp half-up.” Jo, a knife already in hand, looks ready to protest, but he cuts her off with “Ready for takeoff. _Now_.”

Her knuckles go white around the hilt of her knife, but she turns on her heel and hops up beside Charlie. Dean’s wandering gaze lands on Castiel. “Get up there, Cas, come on.”

“There are four ways out of this square, if you intend to search for survivors,” Castiel points out. “One person per street will go faster, and should be reasonably safe. These bodies have been left here for at least twenty-four hours.”

Dean stares and Benny’s eyes narrow, but Meg slaps a pistol into Castiel’s hand. He hears Jo tell Charlie to “move, let’s go,” and the mule trundle off back the way they came. He looks right back at Dean. “Which street should I take?”

“There ain’t no point,” Meg mutters at his side, diverting Dean’s now-angry gaze onto her. “Reavers don’t leave survivors.”

“We’re checking,” Dean says tightly. “You take north. Benny, west, Cas, south. Meet back at the ship.”

“We not gonna bury ’em?” Benny’s voice is even lower than usual.

Dean turns away. “All of them?”

 

***

 

The town feels even more bizarrely quiet now that Castiel knows the reason for the stillness. Every piece of brush shaking in the wind draws his gaze like a magnet. He’s walking into the wind, away from the square, but still takes care to breathe through his mouth.

There aren’t many side streets to explore in a town this size. Castiel combs through each one he comes across as quickly as he dares, looking in every window, opening every door, calling (not too loudly) for anyone who might hear. He doesn’t expect answers. He takes every turn off one side of the main road all the way out to the edge of town, and every turn off the other side on his way back toward the center. It feels like it takes forever, too long, but he knows that’s probably adrenaline.

The wind gradually dies. Even the heat is still, now. Castiel has to wipe his sweat from the grip of Meg’s pistol, suddenly paranoid about it slipping. He checks to make sure the safety is still on.

He picks his way down the last side street, turning onto it without looking into the town square; so far, it’s as empty as all the others. Dean and Meg and Benny must be nearly done with their searches as well. He sharply reins in his impatience to see them and know for sure--he’d said himself that this should be safe. Reavers didn’t linger over their victims; they descended on a place or ship, tormented the life out of its inhabitants, and left, not even taking any plunder. There shouldn’t be anyone here.

“Tamara?”

Castiel stiffens at the sound of Dean’s voice. He has never heard silence this unnatural, but a voice breaking it somehow feels even more jarring. He proceeds cautiously, on silent feet, toward the voice.

“Tamara, it’s me,” he hears Dean continue, voice growing more audible with Castiel’s proximity. Murmured, constant, soothing. Castiel moves faster. “It’s Dean, Bobby sent me, remember?”

Castiel edges forward until he can see around the corner—slowly, slowly, anyone Dean is talking to like that will not take kindly to sudden movement—and sees Dean to his right, crouched in the dust, still speaking cajolingly to someone who must be huddled a doorway. Castiel leans over millimeter by millimeter until they come into his peripherals—a woman, short-haired, dark-skinned, hunched over a prone body whose ragged trail lies visible in the dirt up the road out of sight—probably all the way, Castiel realizes, to the square where the rest of the town is piled. This one is a man, clearly dead at least a day, as mangled as any of his fellows. His open wounds have ceased to ooze. His chin and chest are crusted with blood that at one point poured from his mouth.

Dean’s gaze has flicked from the woman to the body and he can’t seem to tear it away. “Tamara, I am so sorry…”

The man—it must be the husband, Isaac—is no threat to anyone anymore. Castiel keeps his eyes trained on the woman. She rocks back and forth over her husband’s body, eyeing Dean, a wild animal at bay. Castiel cannot see her eyes.

Her hands are visible, though, clutching at Isaac, filthy with blood and offal that, upon closer inspection, is not her own. Castiel squints. It’s dug in under her fingernails.

Some of Isaac’s wounds never bled. They were scored into his flesh long after his heart had stopped beating.

In the second it takes for this to register, Castiel lunges around the corner and Tamara lunges for Dean, bloodied claws extended.

Dean topples to the side as Castiel slams into him and rolls him away, hits the dirt with a cry cut off by Castiel landing on him. Castiel barely catches sight of Dean’s wide eyes before he scrambles around to face what was once Tamara, whose momentum has carried her across the street. Too close—he stays balanced over Dean, Dean can’t run if he’s pinning him, there’s no time to run or draw or aim—he can only stare her down. Her eyes are not a survivor’s eyes.

 _Reavers don’t leave survivors_.

A shot fractures the air and she crumples mid-leap, thudding to the ground a spare few inches short of Castiel’s feet. He and Dean are both frozen to the spot.

Sense kicks in quickly, and Castiel scans the street, ears still ringing. Meg approaches quickly but cautiously, gun still trained on Tamara’s body; she stops just outside of arm’s reach for a head shot. Castiel has warning enough to cover his ears this time.

Meg’s face is a mask. “How you doing, Clarence?”

“Well enough. Alive.”

A curt nod. “Captain?” Castiel has never heard her refer to Dean by his rank.

“Same.” Cas turns to find Dean staring at Tamara’s body. “She…”

“Think she was the only one.” Meg holsters her gun. “They wanted to make her watch. Getting artistic pretensions now.” Her voice is completely steady. Castiel has never heard her so disturbed.

Dean still cannot look away.

Castiel has to lift Dean to his feet, steer him away by the shoulders, unresisting. He walks like a ghost all the way back to the ship.

Benny meets them there, takes a single look and doesn’t need to hear the words “no survivors.” He hits the comm and tells Jo to get them the hell out of here. Hydraulics hiss and engines rumble, and Impala almost drowns out the unnatural silence of the settlement that clings to them. It doesn’t belong here, Castiel thinks. It’s worse than it was outside, where he preferred the snarling. He closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in the ship, as he has seen Dean do. It’s more comforting than it has any right to be.

Castiel opens his eyes and turns to find Dean staring at him.

“Are you all right?” Castiel immediately wishes he could take back the question; the answer is obvious and unhelpful. Benny shoots him a narrow-eyed look from behind Dean that communicates as much.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

It takes a moment to work out what Dean is thanking him for, which isn’t made any easier by Dean’s unwavering eye contact. “That’s not necessary. I wouldn’t stand by and watch you be killed.”

“You could’ve died.”

“You were about to.”

This doesn’t seem to satisfy Dean.   

Benny rubs a hand across his face. “We’re all alive. That’s somethin’ to be thankful for.”

“Yeah.” Meg is already retreating from the solemnity of the moment, Castiel can see her usual defenses going back up. “Jo woulda killed us if we’d died.”

“I assume you’re speaking figuratively,” Castiel tells her, for the sake of continuing to dispel that awful, unnatural silence. It works, at least a little. Meg quirks an eyebrow at him, and Benny even makes a sound that’s almost a chuckle. The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches upward, but he keeps staring at Castiel like he can’t quite believe he exists.

He doesn’t really stop for the entire journey from Lilac to Deadwood.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler-y Details: the crew sees the aftermath of a Reaver attack--the remains of the dead victims (so there's a bit of after-the-fact gore) and what became of those left alive, per Firefly canon (psychological torture not depicted, but its effects on a character are).
> 
> Well. Hi there! I haven't looked at this in ages, but I updated one of my other series for the first time in months today and then felt compelled to update EVERYTHING. Perhaps this will encourage me to get to the plot of this one soon. Hmmmm.


End file.
